Saturday, May 25, 2013
Saturday, May 18, 2013
10 Productions I'd Like to See Between Now and Christmas
When asked the question, "If you could have a superpower, what would it be?" I, without fail, answer "Teleporting." Such a thing would come in so handy in almost every scenario I can think of.
I have just completed a big project (my school's production of Fiddler on the Roof just finished its run), so now I have more time to devote to the internet. Which means that I've been able to get my head out of the sand and find out what's going on in the world. And by "the world," I mean who's producing what these days on stage.
So, by region, here is a smattering of English-speaking plays I would teleport to see (Caveat: I have not completed exhaustive research - these are the shows that caught my fancy and made me sit upright on my stroll through the internet).
CANADA
I have just completed a big project (my school's production of Fiddler on the Roof just finished its run), so now I have more time to devote to the internet. Which means that I've been able to get my head out of the sand and find out what's going on in the world. And by "the world," I mean who's producing what these days on stage.
So, by region, here is a smattering of English-speaking plays I would teleport to see (Caveat: I have not completed exhaustive research - these are the shows that caught my fancy and made me sit upright on my stroll through the internet).
CANADA
- ARCADIA. Shaw Festival, July 14-September 7. It's one of my favourite plays. I love Tom Stoppard and I've never been to Niagara on the lake, so it's a perfect fit.
- THE BEST BROTHERS. Tarragon Theatre (Toronto). September 17-October 27. Confession of a Canadian Theatre sin: I've never seen a Daniel McIvor play. I've read a few . . . this one looks good and it would cleanse me of this particular unrighteousness of mine.
- VENUS IN FUR. Canstage (Toronto). September 29-October 27. I want to see what all the fuss is about.
- THE GREAT GATSBY. Theatre Calgary. October 15-November 10. I bet it'll be lavish.
CHICAGO
- THE WHEEL. Steppenwolf. September 12-November 10. Tina Landau and The National Theatre of Scotland sound like a winning combination.
NEW YORK
- VANYA AND SONIA AND MASHA AND SPIKE. Broadway. Plays until June 30. Chekhovian angst made funny. Sounds like my cup of tea.
- FETCH CLAY, MAKE MAN. New York Theatre Workshop. (Can't find the dates, but it looks like it's in the fall some time) Des McAnuff. I'd love to see a show directed by him.
- ONCE. Broadway. Open run. Not because of the movie or anything, but I've loved Enda Walsh for a long time, now. He's brilliant and I must see this.
SYDNEY
- ROSENCRANTZ AND GUILDENSTERN ARE DEAD. Sydney Theatre Company. August 7-September 7. Again, Tom Stoppard. And, Tim Minchin! Plus, I've always wanted to see a show at STC.
LONDON
- THE HOTHOUSE. Trafalgar Studios. May 4-August 3. Admittedly, the last Pinter play I saw (No Man's Land at The Gate in Dublin in 2008) was not interesting. What was most interesting about it was the fresh paint smell coming off of the set, a shaft of bright light shining through the set window at one point, and the fact that it had a star -studded cast. But this one has John Simm, who is one of my favourite actors and my choice celebrity crush. So, it has to be good.
I've already seen MATILDA, so it's not on my list, but if you haven't seen it, you MUST.
I can't find any info, but if David Cromer is directing anything at all, anywhere at all, it would be a priority. Same goes if Stephen Karam has a show in production any time soon.
Stay tuned in the new year for other choices. Heads up, though for DO YOU WANT WHAT I HAVE GOT? A CRAIGSLIST CANTATA.
Sunday, March 31, 2013
Moody Blue
I've been wrestling an inexplicable sadness these past couple days.
It started on Friday. I came home from doing some work at the school and just crawled into bed. I could hardly move. I brought a book with me, but the pages just gooped around in front of my face like cold, mushy porridge. I stayed there for hours. My appetite didn't even kick in (and I love food!). I ate much later than I usually do and then only just because it's what one does.
Yesterday wasn't a whole lot different. I had about 2 hours of housework to do and it took me all day to do half of it. I just kept crawling back to bed. Just sad, and not able to pull myself up. And not knowing why.
I'm not given to bouts of depression. I know that many people are, and I'm not in denial or anything, but it's just not something I happen to struggle with, so I know it's not that. I ruled out PMS (during which I can get certifiably crazy) as now is just not the time. So, wth? Why can't I function? Why do I feel so blue?
It happens sometimes. I realized it for the first time a little over a year ago. As I get older and the sod I travel increases and multiplies, I pick people up along the way. Most of them are dropped off not long afterward. Some are with me for short, intense periods of time and I never see them again. We're together for a particular reason and when the time's up, it's up and even though I may never see them again, they really really mattered to me for that time and an impression is left on me that may fade but never fully disappears.
Sometimes I meet people more or less in passing (some are local, some are long gone), but I think they're really cool, and though there's no reason for us to spend time together, I wish there was. I don't like to "glorify busy" as the fb meme scolds, but I just am. So, there is a huge amount of people who I love dearly and would love to spend more time with, but because they're as driven as am and doing their own things, there just isn't time for us to be epic together. Geography is a bitch, too: people move on, move away, or were never really near me to begin with. As I look at it all today, there are only a precious few who are at my side on a regular basis and have been for ages.
So, I think the cause of this moody blue is a subcutaneous awareness of missing all the people I've known and loved but who aren't near me for whatever reason. And also of anticipating the departure of those I know will be moving on, maybe not immediately, but eventually. This all results in an overwhelming pity party where I acutely feel the little bruises of all of those who have made their mark on me and who I would love to be near but can't. And it happens like this sometimes, that it all comes down to bear on me for a day or two, where my body insists on mourning those losses, because my brain is tied up with what comes next in the madness of the day-to-day. So, I can't get out of bed. So, I'm forced to pay heed and take time for it.
In times like these, I like to think of the relationships I have with my friends and precious acquaintances as jewels, our conversations (past present) as tapestries, all of which may otherwise be threatened by ephemera, but can be made to last somehow; as though by quantifiying them and giving them mass, I can will them into permanence.
At least I know, now, the origin of my malady. In a few minutes I have to suck it up. It's day 3 of this after all, and I have to finish the rest of my housework.
Love to you all.
It started on Friday. I came home from doing some work at the school and just crawled into bed. I could hardly move. I brought a book with me, but the pages just gooped around in front of my face like cold, mushy porridge. I stayed there for hours. My appetite didn't even kick in (and I love food!). I ate much later than I usually do and then only just because it's what one does.
Yesterday wasn't a whole lot different. I had about 2 hours of housework to do and it took me all day to do half of it. I just kept crawling back to bed. Just sad, and not able to pull myself up. And not knowing why.
I'm not given to bouts of depression. I know that many people are, and I'm not in denial or anything, but it's just not something I happen to struggle with, so I know it's not that. I ruled out PMS (during which I can get certifiably crazy) as now is just not the time. So, wth? Why can't I function? Why do I feel so blue?
It happens sometimes. I realized it for the first time a little over a year ago. As I get older and the sod I travel increases and multiplies, I pick people up along the way. Most of them are dropped off not long afterward. Some are with me for short, intense periods of time and I never see them again. We're together for a particular reason and when the time's up, it's up and even though I may never see them again, they really really mattered to me for that time and an impression is left on me that may fade but never fully disappears.
Sometimes I meet people more or less in passing (some are local, some are long gone), but I think they're really cool, and though there's no reason for us to spend time together, I wish there was. I don't like to "glorify busy" as the fb meme scolds, but I just am. So, there is a huge amount of people who I love dearly and would love to spend more time with, but because they're as driven as am and doing their own things, there just isn't time for us to be epic together. Geography is a bitch, too: people move on, move away, or were never really near me to begin with. As I look at it all today, there are only a precious few who are at my side on a regular basis and have been for ages.
So, I think the cause of this moody blue is a subcutaneous awareness of missing all the people I've known and loved but who aren't near me for whatever reason. And also of anticipating the departure of those I know will be moving on, maybe not immediately, but eventually. This all results in an overwhelming pity party where I acutely feel the little bruises of all of those who have made their mark on me and who I would love to be near but can't. And it happens like this sometimes, that it all comes down to bear on me for a day or two, where my body insists on mourning those losses, because my brain is tied up with what comes next in the madness of the day-to-day. So, I can't get out of bed. So, I'm forced to pay heed and take time for it.
In times like these, I like to think of the relationships I have with my friends and precious acquaintances as jewels, our conversations (past present) as tapestries, all of which may otherwise be threatened by ephemera, but can be made to last somehow; as though by quantifiying them and giving them mass, I can will them into permanence.
At least I know, now, the origin of my malady. In a few minutes I have to suck it up. It's day 3 of this after all, and I have to finish the rest of my housework.
Love to you all.
Friday, March 22, 2013
Found!
I found my phone.
It was in my laptop bag for two weeks. I always put it in my laptop bag, but there's a special pocket it goes in and it wasn't there. Apparently, when you're looking for something in a bag or a drawer or something like that, you should dump everything out of it and shake it all, like books and stuff. And magazines that you never read. 'Cause that thing you lost might just be trapped in there, between the pages of a magazine you've been carting around for no reason. I turned on the "Find my iPhone" thing as soon as it had enough power. So, there's that.
A person could respond to this in a number of ways, I suppose. Lament the lost time on whatever phone plan they're on. Be angry at oneself for not looking hard enough. I was just glad I found it. And I learned something from it. I felt a deep sense of loss without actually having lost anything, for one. It's good to feel things. But mostly, it built my faith. I have a firm belief that things are never really lost. Unless you see them slip down a drain pipe (that happened to my aunt's cell phone), or you accidentally throw something in the garbage, or leave something on a plane that you'll never return to - even then, it's a long shot.
I also learned about how other people respond to things they've lost. I asked folks (I may have monopolized a conversation or two about my plight) what they would do in my situation, like at what point they give up and call the time of death on the thing. For most people, it's not very long. For some it's half a day, for others, it's two days. Most give up after a week.
One of my favourite things about humankind is our capacity for faith. Faith is hugely unpopular these days - those of us who love it are often derided (often obliquely and always in generalities) for our apparent stupidity. Fuck 'em. I love everything about faith - the very idea of it in the first place and its insistence that we destroy the boundaries of whatever gets in our way. My faith extends to many things: God, that I can endure whatever tough thing I'm going through and come out of it okay, and in people - that they can conquer mountains if they want to. But my faith does not extend to the notion of dematerialization of solid objects.
So, when I lose something, though I hate that I'm stuck, I know that it's somewhere. It didn't just disappear. Yes, things get stolen, but it is surprising how few people these days want someone else's phone. So, when I pray about it (and I do), I start by asking where it is. Because it's somewhere. And then I wait for as long as it takes for an answer.
I feel hugely victorious. Things show up most often when you're not looking for them. I like that. It takes the pressure off. A day after the day I said I was going to give up, I reached into my bag and there it was. It was just there, announcing itself all nonchalant.
And I am so happy.
It was in my laptop bag for two weeks. I always put it in my laptop bag, but there's a special pocket it goes in and it wasn't there. Apparently, when you're looking for something in a bag or a drawer or something like that, you should dump everything out of it and shake it all, like books and stuff. And magazines that you never read. 'Cause that thing you lost might just be trapped in there, between the pages of a magazine you've been carting around for no reason. I turned on the "Find my iPhone" thing as soon as it had enough power. So, there's that.
A person could respond to this in a number of ways, I suppose. Lament the lost time on whatever phone plan they're on. Be angry at oneself for not looking hard enough. I was just glad I found it. And I learned something from it. I felt a deep sense of loss without actually having lost anything, for one. It's good to feel things. But mostly, it built my faith. I have a firm belief that things are never really lost. Unless you see them slip down a drain pipe (that happened to my aunt's cell phone), or you accidentally throw something in the garbage, or leave something on a plane that you'll never return to - even then, it's a long shot.
I also learned about how other people respond to things they've lost. I asked folks (I may have monopolized a conversation or two about my plight) what they would do in my situation, like at what point they give up and call the time of death on the thing. For most people, it's not very long. For some it's half a day, for others, it's two days. Most give up after a week.
One of my favourite things about humankind is our capacity for faith. Faith is hugely unpopular these days - those of us who love it are often derided (often obliquely and always in generalities) for our apparent stupidity. Fuck 'em. I love everything about faith - the very idea of it in the first place and its insistence that we destroy the boundaries of whatever gets in our way. My faith extends to many things: God, that I can endure whatever tough thing I'm going through and come out of it okay, and in people - that they can conquer mountains if they want to. But my faith does not extend to the notion of dematerialization of solid objects.
So, when I lose something, though I hate that I'm stuck, I know that it's somewhere. It didn't just disappear. Yes, things get stolen, but it is surprising how few people these days want someone else's phone. So, when I pray about it (and I do), I start by asking where it is. Because it's somewhere. And then I wait for as long as it takes for an answer.
I feel hugely victorious. Things show up most often when you're not looking for them. I like that. It takes the pressure off. A day after the day I said I was going to give up, I reached into my bag and there it was. It was just there, announcing itself all nonchalant.
And I am so happy.
Tuesday, March 12, 2013
It's All About Your Platitude
Sometimes it feels like the world is coming down on my head and I don't know how I'm going to chew whatever I've bitten off (I know! It's a cliché, but I can't think of anything better right now). But it must be said that I love my life and I would never wish for anything in it to be added or taken away. I don't think there's anything I'd rather be doing or any life I'd rather be living than what I've got right now. And I'm acutely aware of my good fortune.
I just wanted to say that somewhere. Facebook is full of sappy shit like this and I would hate to think of someone eye rolling or dismissing me. I'd deserve it, but I'd hate it.
I just wanted to say that somewhere. Facebook is full of sappy shit like this and I would hate to think of someone eye rolling or dismissing me. I'd deserve it, but I'd hate it.
Sunday, March 10, 2013
Shape Of An "L" On My Forehead
I love stories. I love telling them, I love hearing them and I love living them.
I've been a little story-obsessed lately. Like, duh, right? I write plays . . .
I find myself gathering folks around me, forcing this story or that on them. And then I make them tell me some of theirs. They all range from "That scar" to "A time when I was misunderstood" to "The last time I cried." And then I'll ask something like, "What does it feel like to tell your story?" In almost all cases, for me, it feels great! And I love hearing other people's, too. I always come away enriched somehow.
I'm living a story right now. It's called, "The time I lost my cell phone." I have lots of stories like that. "The time I lost my wedding rings." "The time I lost a $20 bill." (I think I have a few of those) The time I lost my purse." (LOTS of those) "The time I lost my keys." (Too many to count) "The time I lost my truck." (Not even joking) "The time I lost my wedding rings - again." The police have been involved in more than one of these tales.
I'm a loser. I wish that were funny. Perhaps you think it is. It is, sometimes. Losing things, for me, is like a disability. I'm not trying to cop out, it's just that when I lose something, my brain lapses completely and I have no idea what's become of the object in question. I'm the same with getting lost. All you people who are bad with names, stop judging. I am amazing with names. This is the same type of thing.
This cell phone story is not over because I have: a) not found it yet and b) not given up. I've been busy and this kind of thing requires focus. My cell phone has failed to produce itself amongst all of my cursory look-sees, so I need to devote time to it. Rip apart my office. Search under the car seats. Take apart the shelves of the entrance way of my house. Or pretend to stop looking for it so it turns up on its own.
See, right now, this story is highly unsatisfactory. I lost my cell phone and I haven't found it yet. Yawn. I demand better narrative than that. So between now and say, this coming Wednesday, I will either have found it or I will have acquiesced to its disappearance, but there is a good story here. I know it. Either way the battle will be won or lost and it may not be glorious, but I vow to make it INTERESTING.
I'll let you know how it goes in the next post. Thanks for listening.
I've been a little story-obsessed lately. Like, duh, right? I write plays . . .
I find myself gathering folks around me, forcing this story or that on them. And then I make them tell me some of theirs. They all range from "That scar" to "A time when I was misunderstood" to "The last time I cried." And then I'll ask something like, "What does it feel like to tell your story?" In almost all cases, for me, it feels great! And I love hearing other people's, too. I always come away enriched somehow.
I'm living a story right now. It's called, "The time I lost my cell phone." I have lots of stories like that. "The time I lost my wedding rings." "The time I lost a $20 bill." (I think I have a few of those) The time I lost my purse." (LOTS of those) "The time I lost my keys." (Too many to count) "The time I lost my truck." (Not even joking) "The time I lost my wedding rings - again." The police have been involved in more than one of these tales.
I'm a loser. I wish that were funny. Perhaps you think it is. It is, sometimes. Losing things, for me, is like a disability. I'm not trying to cop out, it's just that when I lose something, my brain lapses completely and I have no idea what's become of the object in question. I'm the same with getting lost. All you people who are bad with names, stop judging. I am amazing with names. This is the same type of thing.
This cell phone story is not over because I have: a) not found it yet and b) not given up. I've been busy and this kind of thing requires focus. My cell phone has failed to produce itself amongst all of my cursory look-sees, so I need to devote time to it. Rip apart my office. Search under the car seats. Take apart the shelves of the entrance way of my house. Or pretend to stop looking for it so it turns up on its own.
See, right now, this story is highly unsatisfactory. I lost my cell phone and I haven't found it yet. Yawn. I demand better narrative than that. So between now and say, this coming Wednesday, I will either have found it or I will have acquiesced to its disappearance, but there is a good story here. I know it. Either way the battle will be won or lost and it may not be glorious, but I vow to make it INTERESTING.
I'll let you know how it goes in the next post. Thanks for listening.
Saturday, February 23, 2013
"Why Do You Miss When My Baby Kisses Me?"
A lot of things make my heart beat (well, besides blood and oxygen and impulses from my brain). Cookies (my love for cookies is a blog post in itself, More on that later). My kids. God. Being mistaken for younger than I am.
I like seeing what will happen when the plan is that there is no plan. Par example: I've been teaching a course called Adapted Theatre for the last 3 weeks for kids with various special needs. There are 13 kids in the class and about 7 adult assistants. The course will continue until the end of June and they will perform for the public in late May.
Perform for the public. Not quite sure how to go about that. In the past (under direction from folks other than myself), this group has mounted shows based on familiar stories, such as Cinderella and Alice in Wonderland. They've combined Black Light puppetry with film and live action. It's been successful in the past and the community has been very supportive. And I think that's along the lines of what the kids would like to do this year, too.
But I just think there is so much more here that could be so much better.
To be clear: the past was great. But it wouldn't be as great with me at the helm because I don't find those types of stories all that interesting. What I find interesting is a person's own story: I want to walk in the shoes of another for 10, 45, 60, 90 (no more than 130) minutes at any given time. Whatever we create will be no more than an hour, I'm sure. I haven't come right out and said it, but this is the direction I'm trying to steer the group in. One might call it manipulation. It is manipulation, but I think it's for the best.
I've been inching my way toward getting them to tell their stories: what's it's like to be them, with all their fears and challenges and whatnot. Really. I mean, the things that the rest of us don't have to worry about at all. I got close to the gold mine the other day. We were talking about fears. I told them that I have a fear of failure. One of the fears that seemed to recur among them was that of being misunderstood. So, I went there. I asked them about their experiences with that. They mostly skirted the issue to start with, talking in gross generalities, and then one of them actually got real. She talked about the fact that she is blind in one eye and that when she asks about things and people point, she can't see where they're pointing and it just gets awkward. Another talked about his speech impediment and how people used to really misunderstand him, but how a former teacher complimented him for his progress in his speech.
That's about as far as we got for getting real in our discussion. But the room was hushed and I looked about and saw a few watery pairs of eyes belonging to kids who had something to say but weren't quite ready yet. Their day will come. It was all very Oprah-y. Which I totally dig, because it means that we can peel artifice away and get to the things that truly matter. Which is what great art is all about.
Anyhow. We've been working away, making scenes, generating material, and I gotta say, these people are entertaining (the students and their adult assistants). They have things to say. They're funny as hell and I LOVE working with them. I come into that class every day, not knowing how anything will turn out, but never failing to be delighted and surprised by what comes of it all.
So, we're building a show. The kids don't really realize it yet, but they're writing and acting toward something completely unheard of - for me and for them, anyway. I. can. not. wait to see how it all turns out.
I don't know what's ahead. When I go into a situation like this where the rules are that there are no rules (i.e.: we have dates and a venue, but no script), I hear this voice, a deep, masculine kind of voice like a sports announcer, that says, "This could go terribly wrong!" It could. I mean, what if we work hard and get a bunch of brilliant material, but they don't want to do it? Or, what if we work hard and it's brilliant, and it falls flat because the community just wants another fairy tale? Or what if I think it's all brilliant, but it really isn't? Or what if we just can't get it together somehow? Or we lose faith part way through and just want to give up?
I don't care. My heart is beating about this one in a way that forbids impediment in all its shapes and forms. Let's see how this turns out, shall we? I'll keep you posted.
I like seeing what will happen when the plan is that there is no plan. Par example: I've been teaching a course called Adapted Theatre for the last 3 weeks for kids with various special needs. There are 13 kids in the class and about 7 adult assistants. The course will continue until the end of June and they will perform for the public in late May.
Perform for the public. Not quite sure how to go about that. In the past (under direction from folks other than myself), this group has mounted shows based on familiar stories, such as Cinderella and Alice in Wonderland. They've combined Black Light puppetry with film and live action. It's been successful in the past and the community has been very supportive. And I think that's along the lines of what the kids would like to do this year, too.
But I just think there is so much more here that could be so much better.
To be clear: the past was great. But it wouldn't be as great with me at the helm because I don't find those types of stories all that interesting. What I find interesting is a person's own story: I want to walk in the shoes of another for 10, 45, 60, 90 (no more than 130) minutes at any given time. Whatever we create will be no more than an hour, I'm sure. I haven't come right out and said it, but this is the direction I'm trying to steer the group in. One might call it manipulation. It is manipulation, but I think it's for the best.
I've been inching my way toward getting them to tell their stories: what's it's like to be them, with all their fears and challenges and whatnot. Really. I mean, the things that the rest of us don't have to worry about at all. I got close to the gold mine the other day. We were talking about fears. I told them that I have a fear of failure. One of the fears that seemed to recur among them was that of being misunderstood. So, I went there. I asked them about their experiences with that. They mostly skirted the issue to start with, talking in gross generalities, and then one of them actually got real. She talked about the fact that she is blind in one eye and that when she asks about things and people point, she can't see where they're pointing and it just gets awkward. Another talked about his speech impediment and how people used to really misunderstand him, but how a former teacher complimented him for his progress in his speech.
That's about as far as we got for getting real in our discussion. But the room was hushed and I looked about and saw a few watery pairs of eyes belonging to kids who had something to say but weren't quite ready yet. Their day will come. It was all very Oprah-y. Which I totally dig, because it means that we can peel artifice away and get to the things that truly matter. Which is what great art is all about.
Anyhow. We've been working away, making scenes, generating material, and I gotta say, these people are entertaining (the students and their adult assistants). They have things to say. They're funny as hell and I LOVE working with them. I come into that class every day, not knowing how anything will turn out, but never failing to be delighted and surprised by what comes of it all.
So, we're building a show. The kids don't really realize it yet, but they're writing and acting toward something completely unheard of - for me and for them, anyway. I. can. not. wait to see how it all turns out.
I don't know what's ahead. When I go into a situation like this where the rules are that there are no rules (i.e.: we have dates and a venue, but no script), I hear this voice, a deep, masculine kind of voice like a sports announcer, that says, "This could go terribly wrong!" It could. I mean, what if we work hard and get a bunch of brilliant material, but they don't want to do it? Or, what if we work hard and it's brilliant, and it falls flat because the community just wants another fairy tale? Or what if I think it's all brilliant, but it really isn't? Or what if we just can't get it together somehow? Or we lose faith part way through and just want to give up?
I don't care. My heart is beating about this one in a way that forbids impediment in all its shapes and forms. Let's see how this turns out, shall we? I'll keep you posted.
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